


Finding East of Eden

by Machiavelien



Series: Mr. & Ms. Jones [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man (Video Game 2018), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mr. & Mrs. Smith Fusion, Assassins & Hitmen, BAMF Michelle Jones, BAMF Peter Parker, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic, Established Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love Again, Feelings Realization, Fugitives, Light Bondage, Married Couple, Minor Character Death, Non-Graphic Smut, On the Run, Organized Crime, Partners in Crime, Pulp, Reconciliation, Relationship Problems, Road Trips, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-22 12:23:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22149382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Machiavelien/pseuds/Machiavelien
Summary: Previously rival assassins who unknowingly married each other, Peter and Michelle Jones are on the run from their former employers, SHIELD and the Stark Crime family. Presumed to be traitors to both organizations, the couple embarks on a cross-country roadtrip to find their east of Eden, and maybe their way back to each other.(Mr. & Mrs. Smith AU: Part II)
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: Mr. & Ms. Jones [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1585426
Comments: 82
Kudos: 203





	1. Chapter 1

_Call me wild, drinking up the sunshine_  
_Be my man and show me what it feels like_  
_Denim sky unbuttoned down the middle_  
_Spilling out little by little_

—Zella Day, ["East of Eden"](https://open.spotify.com/track/2Wc2tcQl7cPetPKeXH3GD3?si=i9vvadlVR8WbdMV4BLpRaA)

===

"Where do you think we went wrong?" asks Peter, staring out at the road ahead. 

The setting sunlight reflects off his sunglasses, and the rest of him is awash in golden light as he stands by the car with his arm resting on the hood. He tilts his head when he sees her staring, and Michelle looks away.

"I don't think it was one thing," she says, busying herself with marking up the roadmap she bought at the last pitstop. They still have a cross-country drive ahead of them to Tony's safehouse, and they don’t want to turn on the car’s GPS until they get further west. "Maybe it was a bunch of little things."

"Death by a thousand cuts?" he muses, still looking out at the horizon.

Michelle chews on her lip, a nervous tick that she thought she had eradicated during her SHIELD training. "Yeah, something like that."

"But we used to be good, right?" Peter persists. "At the start? At least, I thought we were."

She puts the map down, finally looking up at him. "Why are you asking about all that now?"

He shrugs as he gets into the driver's seat, and starts the engine. "I guess when you're at the end, you start thinking about the beginning." 

Hearing Peter talk about the end of their marriage makes Michelle's stomach feel funny, even though it shouldn’t. It's not like she ever expected them to keep carrying on as if nothing's changed, as if their entire life together didn't turn out to be a sham. 

So why does she feel like she's losing something that never really existed? 

The next week is a blur of scratchy radio stations, rusty road signs, and endless sun-bleached highway. Too paranoid to check into another motel anywhere east of the Rockies, Peter and Michelle sleep in the car and subsist on snacks and groceries from off-ramp gas stations. 

Cutting through the Midwest, they drive past lush farmlands punctuated by grain silos and water towers. One night, when they're stargazing from the roof of the car, Peter points out planets twinkling in the black sky, and Michelle notices that he hasn't taken off his wedding band. 

The next day, they wait out a hailstorm from inside the car while stormy skies swirl above the vast prairielands extending all around them. For all she knew, they could be the only people in a hundred miles. 

Listening to the rain and ice hitting the metal hood, they curl up in the backseat for warmth. Peter rests his head on her shoulder, and his hair is so soft against her cheek, she falls asleep like that.

Michelle also starts drawing again, which she hasn't done in years. Using the advertisement side of the map, she sketches the landscape with a ballpoint pen, outlining the craggly mountain range with darkened lines and shading in the shadows with cross-hatching.

Then she moves onto a few life studies of Peter’s face, starting with his mouth, but doesn't get further than that because she starts kissing the life subject, and pen and map are left forgotten.

Later, somewhere in Kansas, Michelle sighs and throws her head back in delight, inhaling the sweet country air. Lying on a blanket in the middle of an open field, she stares up at the endless void of the starry night sky, and the vastness takes her breath away. 

When she squeezes her eyes shut, she can still see stars, flashing in bursts of light as Peter moves inside her, his body on top of hers and shielding her from the night chill. Her heart is thundering in her ears as pleasure courses through her entire body. Clinging onto him, she never wants this moment to end. 

It's the happiest she's ever been.

When wheat fields and corn stalks start to give way to desert cactuses and dry brush, Michelle knows they're getting closer to the safehouse in Nevada, according to the coordinates Tony gave them, meaning their little slice of paradise is also coming to an end.

On the road, they could be anybody in that nondescript silver sedan, cruising backroads and crossing state lines in the night. They could start over, be nobody, and just disappear.

Once they get to the safehouse, however, they'll have to bunker down for an indeterminate amount of time with limited resources, and revert to their training again. The prospect of going back to that life feels suffocating, and Michelle is dreading every mile they get closer to their destination—and further from the freedom of being on the open road.

If Peter notices the change in her mood, he doesn't mention it, not even when she snaps at him for happily noting that they're only two days out from the safehouse.

But when she tells him that he should take off his wedding ring, Peter almost pulls the car over.

"Peter Parker and Mary Jane Watson aren't married," she reminds him. "When we get into town, we need to be as unlike Peter and Michelle Jones as possible."

Tony had warned them that with The Spider's identity outed among the crime families, they'll inevitably send bounty hunters after Peter—if they haven't already. So the two of them have to disappear as best they can.

Peter stares at the platinum band on his finger glinting in the sun, and adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. "Right." He clears his throat. "So what are Peter and Mary Jane to each other?"

"I don't know," Michelle admits. "I guess we'll have to find out."

===

"You sure about this?" she asks again.

"Of course," Peter replies confidently. "I mean, I actually _did_ go to MIT."

"I'm not doubting your ability to count cards, nerd, but the house always wins," says Michelle, straightening the collar of his shirt behind his neck. "The last thing we need is to get on anyone's radar—"

"I know, I know," says Peter, buttoning up his shirt. "I'm not trying to score big, just get a few winning hands at a few different spots. I'll quit while I'm ahead, then we'll be on our way to the safehouse before you know it."

It was Peter's idea to hit up a few two-bit casinos on the way to Reno, so they could replenish their cash while taking a breather from their nonstop road trip. 

All of their assets and bank accounts have been frozen ever since SHIELD discovered that Michelle's husband was the Stark crime family's top enforcer and the most wanted mob hitman on the continent. The two of them still have some of the cash from Tony, but it won't last much longer, especially after the car broke down somewhere back in Missouri and they had to get it fixed. 

With another thousand miles to go until the safehouse, they were driving blind and running out of funds—they needed cold, hard cash, and they needed it fast.

So they drove through the narrow mountainous canyon to get to Black Hawk, Colorado, a former gold mining town that transformed itself into a city of casinos in the middle of the Mojave Desert. 

The winding mountain roads and sheer remoteness of the old mining settlement also made it a perfect hideout for the night. Plus, Michelle was eager to take a hot shower in a real bathroom after too many days on the dusty, sweaty road. 

They stay holed up in their hotel room during the day with the window shades closed, watching local television and playing rounds of blackjack so Peter can practice. 

It's a slower and more insidious kind of seduction, this domestic fantasy of theirs. Here, they're not wanted fugitives nor bridge-and-tunnel yuppies; they're just Peter and Mary Jane, a couple of nobodies wasting some time with each other. Here, they can ignore all the lies and hurt that have piled up between them over the years, and start anew.

They both know it won't last—this was just a detour, a diversion to delay their inevitable return to reality. But it feels so good to tangle her legs with his beneath the sheets, lying there with nowhere else to be while he plays with her hair and they watch terrible daytime television shows. So they enjoy it while they can and pretend for a little longer.

That evening, Peter breezes through three casinos, collecting a few thousand dollars from playing high stakes blackjack. Wearing a sweater over a button-down, he looks unassumingly suburban and clean-cut, slipping in and out of each establishment like a ghost the moment he cashes his chips.

Riding on the high of his successful run, he convinces Michelle to stay another night in town. She agrees, because another night sleeping in a real bed and showering in a real shower is too irresistible.

After making another round of the card tables the next day, Peter finds Michelle by the penny slots in the lobby of their hotel, curled up in an oversized hoodie and black converse sneakers. 

"I just like coming here to sketch people in crisis," she says, nodding at the gamblers parked at their favorite slot machines, and the weary servers in sequined shorts and crop tops replenishing their drinks and buckets of fried chicken. 

"Wow, that's really… grotesquely lifelike," Peter remarks as he sits down beside her, looking at her drawings. "You're really good."

Michelle brushes her bangs out of her face and looks up at him. "Thanks. I call this series 'America the Beautiful'. I think I'm really nailing the double chins and glassy-eyed stares."

He laughs, nudging her shoulder with his. “Bored?”

"There isn't a single bookstore in a twenty miles radius of this town," she grumbles, folding her sketches in between the pages of a free magazine. She tucks it under her arm and they make their way back to their room.

"I guess that’s what you get in a casino town with a population under two hundred people," says Peter, hitting the button for the elevator. "I think there's a library in the next town over, maybe a fifteen minute drive—"

"No, we're staying put,” Michelle sighs. “Don't want to expose ourselves just because I'm going stir crazy. "

"Well, Mary Jane," says Peter, "Thanks for coming with me," he says.

"To Black Hawk?"

"All of it, leaving New York, going west to who-knows-where for me."

"What do you mean? They're after me, too," she retorts, checking both ends of the hallway before opening the door to their room.

"You could have stayed behind," he suggests, "explain to SHIELD that you really didn't know. But you came with me."

"The Agency sent a team to ambush me in my own damn house," says Michelle. "I didn't come _with_ you, we ran away together."

It must be the high altitude of the old mining town they're in, why she suddenly feels so lightheaded; the air's just too thin up here. It's definitely not because of the way Peter's face lights up when she says that, or the way he's looking at her now. He's making this too hard—how can she give this up?

"I mean," she says, starting to backtrack. "We both had to run. And we're only really together right now for survival, because we're each other's best shot at making it through all of this alive."

"Isn't that what a marriage is supposed to be?" Peter counters with a little smirk.

Michelle sighs in exasperation."It's not enough. There has to be more than that to make a marriage work."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, Peter! I'm obviously not an expert on healthy relationships. Neither of us are."

He places his hands on her shoulders. His face is serious now. "In a life-or-death, end of the world situation. Who would you want by your side? Aliens have invaded the planet, half the universe is about to be decimated—"

Michelle rolls her eyes. "Obviously you, but—"

"Great!" says Peter, taking her hands and smiling triumphantly. "I'm glad that's been settled."

"I'm only picking you because of your survival skills in this made up scenario," she sighs. That's what they'll have to do when they get to Reno—become soldiers again, the professional survivalists and ruthless liars they really are.

"But that's the point, you're choosing me," says Peter, stubbornly. "And I'd choose you again, in a heartbeat."

"Gonna let me fool you twice?" she asks.

"As many times as you want," he replies, pulling her close. 

===

Waking up in the middle of the night, Michelle groans and rolls over. Recalling that she's lying in a full-sized bed and not the backseat of a car, she sprawls her arms and legs out luxuriously. 

But her stomach drops when she feels that Peter's side is empty and the sheets are cold.

Peeking one eye open, she sees that it's almost four in the morning, according to the digital clock on the nightstand. Sitting up, Michelle rubs the sleep out of her eyes and blinks at the darkness of their room. 

The only light is the ominous glow of the clock's red numbers. An unsettling feeling sits in her stomach; something bad has happened. 

No, it's just her overanxious mind, trained to assume and prepare for the worst.

_He's The Spider, for fuck's sake._

Turning on the lamp on the nightstand, she lets her eyes adjust to the brightness and looks around the room, noting that Peter's bag is still here. How long has he been gone? 

Michelle remembers letting her eyes close, succumbing to the heavy feeling on her eyelids and in her limbs, and Peter leaning in to brush a kiss on her forehead and tell her not to wait up for him.

The casinos aren't even open anymore at this hour. Where could he be? Is he in trouble? He certainly didn't abandon her. Right?

Without warning, the door to their hotel room rattles loudly as someone tries to get in, making Michelle almost jump. She goes for the gun she’s been keeping in the nightstand and points it at the door, counting her breaths slowly.

It's quiet, then the sound of rustling, and the card reader on the door beeps as it unlocks. She watches the doorknob turn, her hands steady as she aims.

"We gotta go!" gasps Peter, tumbling into the room. His shirt sleeves are rolled up and his hair is a mess, and there's blood streaking down his arm. "I think my cover got blown."

Michelle squints when he turns on the overhead light, lowering her gun. “You _think_ , or you _know_? And is that your blood? Are you hurt?”

Wincing, he retrieves a few wads of cash out of his pockets and throws them into their duffel bag. “Um, I _know_? I think a bullet grazed me. Don't worry about it!"

Frantically throwing their few belongings back into their bags, Peter explains that while at one of the casinos, he saw a mark of his that had gotten away, so he followed him and tracked him down to an underground poker game. 

Unfortunately, the game Peter snuck into was in a Maggia Family-owned casino, and he got ID'd as soon as the bullets went flying around the room.

"But I just couldn't let him get away this time," he says defensively, more to himself than her. "When Tony took over, he tried to get all the other crime families to follow his rules, like making kids and civilians off-limits and restricting torture to information extraction. Jigsaw didn't like that, so he hurt a lot of people just to spite Tony and his rules."

“So did you get him tonight?”asks Michelle, putting a hand on his arm.

“Huh?”

“Your mark. Did you get him?”

Peter nods grimly but without remorse. "Yeah, I did."

"Good," she says, throwing on a hoodie and pulling on a pair of thrifted jeans. She knows she would do the same thing he did, if she were given the opportunity to clean up a loose end like that. She zips up her packed bag and stands up.

It's unfortunate that they have to get out of town just as they were getting comfortable, and if Michelle were less sleepy she might be more panicked about the whole situation. But it doesn't matter—they got what they came to Black Hawk for, and now they have to move on. 

"I'm sorry," says Peter, reaching to take her bags from her. "You were right. I'm reckless and impulsive, and I don't know how to work as a team. I shouldn't have gone rogue like that, and messed up our plans over a personal vendetta—" 

"Doesn’t matter. It's done," she says firmly, but allows a small smile to escape. "Not every deviation from the plan is a mistake, Peter."

He gives her a grateful smile. "Did I ever tell you that I really like you?"

Holding back a yawn, Michelle smiles wanly at him as she tosses her bag into the trunk of the car. "You've got the first driving shift, though. Probably want to work off that nervous energy anyway."

Without looking back, they gun it to Reno, racing the rising sun and leaving the Colorado mountains behind them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Jones get to the safe house and plan their next move.

_Bang bang, he shot me down_   
_Bang bang, I hit the ground_   
_Bang bang, that awful sound_   
_Bang bang, my baby shot me down…_

_— Nancy Sinatra,_ [ _"Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)"_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/4JLcAU2xY90qTkTSNM1lUa?si=T5npEsXzSSKipLCSxD-qZw)

===

Driving non-stop to the safehouse, Peter and Michelle switch off between four hour shifts, taking turns napping and letting their adrenaline fuel them through the last five hundred miles. After driving through multiple time zones in a week, he's lost all sense of time while on the run, and the days are all bleeding together into a series of sunrises and sunsets. 

His Spider-sense wasn't tingling, but Peter keeps checking the rear-view mirrors for anyone tailing them anyway, even when the winding road is empty for miles around them. The pit of his stomach roils with guilt and fear—not for himself, but for what he may have brought down on Michelle by association.

After all their careful planning and precautions, he just went ahead and blew their cover, all because he couldn't let a mark go, and now she might get caught in the crossfire—or worse, if the other crime families find out that she's ex-SHIELD. 

When he got away from the Maggia in Colorado, he'd been prepared for another fight and braced himself for another Michelle Jones lecture about how what he did was so stupid and reckless. He knew he deserved it. 

Instead, she had just calmly nodded, threw on a thrifted flannel shirt and a pair of old jeans, and ran away with him into the dead of night—again. He doesn't know if he could possibly love her more.

Peter sighs, and glances up at the rear view mirror again. Michelle deserves so much better than what he's doing to her. At least he didn't have to lie to her this time about where he'd been and what he'd done. Even if she hated him for it, at least it would be for the truth.

Does she regret coming with him now, after he put another target on their backs?

"No, I don't regret it. I'd have done the same," Michelle murmurs, blinking her eyes awake at the rising sun. 

Peter didn't realize he'd said that out loud. "Do what the same?" 

"If I had a target who got away, I'd go after them, too. But a target's never gotten away from me, so it's purely a conjecture," she says smugly, stretching her arms out and nudging the side of his head. 

She giggles when Peter swats her hand away and throws a balled-up napkin at her. 

"What about Mysterio?" he asks, goading her. " _He_ got away from you—"

"Because of you!" Michelle sits up in the passenger seat, suddenly wide awake. "I totally had him! Literally in my crosshairs, until Mr. Sexy Spandex Butt came waltzing into _my_ square and right in my line of sight!"

Keeping his eyes on the road, Peter doesn't say anything, just grins as he watches the pink sunrise that's glowing along the horizon expand and swallow the night.

Perched on a cliff along the eastern edge of the Sierra Nevada range, the safe house is an unremarkable single-story unit overlooking miles of rocky desert terrain. Surrounding it is a barren wasteland, except for some rocky outcrops among sage or an occasional ambling coyote, and the high ground gives them an ideal vantage point.

After they arrive, Peter and Michelle immediately go through their routine of sweeping the house for surveillance bugs, checking and securing the perimeter, and taking inventory of the food and fuel supplies. 

From the expired pantry items to the outdated electronics ("Blu-ray? Is that, like, a DVD?"), it's clear the safehouse hasn't been in use for some time. But it's secluded, clean enough, and all theirs, at least for now.

It's also deafeningly quiet.

They shuffle past each other, awkward and over-polite, fixated on their respective tasks. Now that they're alone with no one watching, Peter's not sure of what they are to each other anymore. Were they the Jones again? Peter Parker and Mary Jane Watson? Agent Jones and The Spider?

He remembers how furious Michelle was when she first found out that he was The Spider. He was certain that she was going to kill him right there on the spot, in their own house, and splatter his brains all over their fancy white wool rug.

But even when she had her gun pointed at him, screaming for him to pull the trigger, he saw that it wasn't anger fueling her, but fear. Her teary eyes pleaded with him to make the decision so she wouldn't have to. 

Peter thought he knew how to handle his wife's anger—ignore it, shake it off—but her sadness, her despair? He's never known Michelle to give up on anything, not until that moment, and it was all because of him.

He genuinely didn't know if she would take the shot or not, but in that moment, as he stared down the barrel of the gun at the end of his wife's arm, Peter found that he didn't care. 

He still doesn't know what possessed him to ignore his survival instincts that day. Maybe it was the look on her face, or, despite her steely voice, the subtle tremor of her hands. Maybe it was her red-rimmed eyes tearing up before him, and how hard she was trying to keep her chin from quivering.

In the end, there was something liberating in surrendering to her, in laying his life at her feet. And he’d do it again.

That night, lying there side by side in bed with their arms barely touching, Peter can't decide if he's allowed to reach over and hold her. He really wants to. He also wants to say something, but he isn't sure what the right thing to say is. Every move and word seems too important to screw up now, and he's paralyzed with indecision and apprehension. 

Her soft breath exhales in his direction in the dark, slower and slower as she falls deeper asleep, and his fingers are itching to reach for hers. The heat from her body and the warm smell of her skin are taunting him as she lies mere inches away from him.

That giant vacuum made up of all the things they don't say to each other is starting to grow again and consume the space between them. 

===

Doing their best to cover their trail, Peter and Michelle leave Tony's car in the safe house's garage and pay in cash to buy two used cars from a shady impound lot. That way, they can take turns going into town and periodically switch between vehicles, hopefully throwing off anyone trying to follow them. 

After a few days of being cooped up in the safe house, the anxiety of not knowing what's going on and constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop is too much for Peter to bear any longer. So he puts on a baseball cap and sunglasses, and makes an excursion into the city.

Hoping to catch any snippet of news about what's going on with the crime families, or maybe a whiff of any of his west coast contacts, Peter hunkers down at a dive bar downtown that's supposedly a mob stomping ground. With his super hearing, he doesn't have to strain to eavesdrop on the other patrons across the bar, but it’s still a complete shot in the dark.

There's one particular contact he's hoping to get a hold of, someone who could help him with his plan to make it up to Michelle and get them out of this mess. Peter's decided that he isn't going to keep flying by the seat of his pants anymore; he's determined to plan out their next moves with precision, like The Spider would. Michelle deserves at least that much from him.

His Spider-sense prickles when he detects the distinct sensation of being watched while he's sitting there in the bar, and he can smell her strong perfume before she approaches him from behind.

A beautiful blonde woman in a red dress sets down two shots of tequila in front of him and sits down beside him, crossing her long legs with a flourish.

"Oh, I didn't order these—"

"On the house," she replies, smiling sultrily. "Welcome to town, stranger."

A chill runs down his spine. Peter doesn't like that he's been noticed, because that means someone has been watching him.

"I'm Felicia," the woman purrs, seemingly oblivious to his apprehension. She traces her fingertips against her chest to draw his eyes to her cleavage. “And you are?”

"Just passing through," Peter replies, looking away.

"Funny place to be passing through," Felicia persists, leaning in closer to him. "Rough crowd in here."

"Hadn't noticed," he shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. 

Without warning, Felicia slides her hand up Peter's thigh and rests it right beside his concealed gun, the weight of her hand making his breath hitch. "Either that's a glock in your pocket, or you're more excited than you're letting on. Now what's the other reason you came here?" 

Peter swallows. "No other reason."

"Liar," she accuses, running a finger along his arm.* "As the owner of this bar, I make it my business to know who's 'just passing through'."

When he doesn't give an inch, the woman switches tactics. "Look, a lot of professionals come through this town on jobs. You don't have to be so cloak and dagger about it." Felicia raises a shoulder coyly and looks up at him from under her lashes, smiling mischievously. "And your trip doesn't have to be all work and no play. I _do_ love to play..."

Peter tries to shift his leg out from under her touch, but she slides up against him and lets the neckline of her dress droop off her shoulder, and he stiffins. 

"So, tell me again," she purrs in his ear, "Is that all you're here for?"

"I'm married," Peter blurts out, shaking her hand off his leg. _Stupid! This is why The Spider never speaks!_

"So?" Felicia shoots back. She arches her back and tilts her chest towards him, giving him a view of the swell of her breasts. "The missus can't take some friendly competition?"

Peter's spent so much of his life lying that it's second nature to him now, but for some reason he says, "I'm sorry, Felicia, but there's no competition when it comes to my wife."

A flash of something ugly and mean darkens the blonde woman's expression, but her smile never falters. "A loyal man? How cute." Felicia’s green eyes flick to his left hand. “But no ring?”

Peter follows her eyes to his bare ring finger. He had taken his wedding band off before their previous stop in Black Hawk, at Michelle's insistence, and his hand felt naked without it. “It’s, uh, getting cleaned.”

"Sure it is, lover," she replies, tossing her platinum hair behind her back. "Though you could always be honest and just tell a girl she's just not your type, instead of making up a missus."

"I didn't make her up," Peter insists. "Someone actually married me. Don't ask me why, I'm just glad she did."

"It truly is a wonder," Felicia teases, but her voice is sharper now, crueler. "Anyway, you should come by my speakeasy later. See some dancing, live music, and tasteful burlesque—for you dignified and discerning types."

Peter chuckles nervously. "I really appreciate the invitation but—"

"Good, see you tonight then."

“No, I really—”

Shushing him with a finger on his lips, Felicia whispers under her breath, “This watering hole is just a waiting room to weed out the chumps and small timers." 

Pulling out a calling card, she presses her red lips against the white surface and slips it into the front pocket of Peter's shirt. "You want to find whatever it is you’re looking for? Come by this address tonight, it’s where all the real big shots of the underworld gather. By invitation only.”

That offer actually sounds very tempting. Or it could be a trap. It's probably a trap. It's also his only option.

"Thanks, Felicia," Peter replies gruffly, glancing at the other patrons in the bar out of the corner of his eye. "What's it gonna cost me to get in there?"

Felicia keeps her eyes on Peter's as she licks and salts the skin where her thumb meets her index finger. "Just don't let a girl take this shot by herself, it's depressing to drink alone in the middle of the day."

Her pink tongue darts out again to lap up the salt on her hand, and she holds up her shot of tequila. "Cheers. To strangers and getting the job done?"

Nodding, Peter clinks his shot glass against hers. "To strangers and getting the job done."

===

Michelle finds the calling card in Peter's shirt while he’s taking a shower. It slips out of the pocket when she's picking up his laundry off the floor. Staring hard at the black-inked address letterpressed into the card, she rubs the thick white cardstock between her fingers, careful not to smudge the bright red lipstick kissed across the surface.

They've been in Reno for less than a week and it seems that Peter was already making fast friends.

The longer she stares at the mystery woman's lips on the card, the more the heat creeping up Michelle's neck and ears starts to itch and irritate her. 

Or maybe she's not a new friend at all, but an old one.

A local booty call, or something more than that? Was this the 'contact' he was mumbling about finding? That would explain why he started acting so nervous and strange once they got to Nevada, and why he hasn't touched her since they got to the safe house. 

Evidently, Michelle wasn't the only one who thought their hot and heavy roadtrip tryst would end once they got to Reno.

But she's determined to find some closure, or at least satiate her self-destructive and masochistic curiosity. 

Not bothering to change her clothes, Michelle calls out that she's going to pick up some groceries, and leaves before checking if Peter heard her over the running water. 

The address on the card leads her to a nondescript white stucco building on East Fourth, with the entrance hidden down the side of an alleyway. The metal utility door is unmarked save for a stenciled spray-painted ‘LCN’, and it's ominously unlocked. 

After walking down a dimly lit hall, Michelle encounters a bored-looking bouncer who barely spares a glance at her and grunts, “New girl?” 

Before she can reply, he lifts a black curtain to let her through without even patting her down. “Boss should be in.” 

Stepping into the bordello-styled theater, Michelle looks up at the crystal chandeliers hanging from vaulted ceilings. Surrounding the platform stage are plush, red-lit lounges with exotic lamps and velvet draperies. The venue is dramatic and decadent, and entirely unexpected from what’s on the outside. 

Detecting the presence of someone else looming closer behind her, despite their nearly silent footsteps, Michelle whirls around. Remembering at the last second not to grab them with the reflexes of an assassin, she drops her hands and gasps instead, "Oh my god, I'm so sorry! You scared the livin' daylights outta me!"

A stunning blonde woman stares back, her green eyes sparkling with interest. She smiles hungrily at Michelle. "It’s okay, sweetheart. Didn’t mean to get you all excited… yet. Are you here about the job?"

"Uh... yes? I mean, yes. I am." Michelle nods without thinking. She might be taking Peter's criticisms about her lack of spontaneity too far. She doesn't need to prove anything.

But the image of the calling card burns in the back of her mind, and Michelle wonders if she's talking to the lipstick wearer. Maybe she _wants_ to prove something.

"Perfect. I'm Felicia," the woman introduces herself. “And this is _Le Chat Noir,_ Reno's most upscale cabaret, with live music and performances, and, of course, impeccable cocktails.”

"Hi, I'm Mary Jane," Michelle replies smoothly, standing up taller. _What the fuck do you want with my husband,_ _Felicia?_

The other woman looks her up and down appraisingly, then smiles when she's satisfied with what she sees.

"I've been looking for a new opener girl, someone to warm up the crowd," says Felicia. She leans in close to Michelle's ear. "Get them in the _mood_ for the evening." 

Leading Michelle deeper into the speakeasy, Felicia describes what the position entails while she gives a tour of the venue. They pass some of the other performers warming up and practising, including silk aerialists, fire dancers, and classic burlesque girls.

"And the money's good. Really good, actually." Felicia gestures for them to sit down in a private box overlooking the entire club. "Can be all cash, if you'd like, or with a proper paper trail if that's what you need."

Feeling underdressed in a tied-up flannel shirt and cutoff shorts, Michelle shifts on her feet before sitting down. "If the money's so good, why do you need to fill the job with someone like me?"

"And what's wrong with you, hun?" The blonde woman narrows her eyes suspiciously, her black catwing eyeliner sweeping perfectly across her lashes.

"Nothing," Michelle replies sullenly, wondering what exactly it is about Felicia that Peter finds appealing. "It's just... I've never done anything like this before."

"Pretty thing who wants to make a thousand bucks a night from shaking her ass around in lingerie, but still wants to make sure everyone knows she's _not that kind of girl_?" The woman's green eyes twinkle with amusement, and her dark lips twitch mockingly. "Trust me, you're not the first, nor the last."

Michelle nods, incorporating Felicia's fabricated personality profile for Mary Jane Watson into the patchy fake identity she's been constructing in her head. Maybe this job would be a good way to lay down a backstory for her cover. Plus, Felicia wasn't kidding, the money sounds suspiciously decent, especially with the option of being completely under the table.

"I usually lose my top girls to Vegas after they've gotten enough experience here and outgrow little Reno," continues Felicia, touching Michelle's hair and tilting her chin this way and that. "I wouldn't be surprised if you did the same, but you could have a real good run here, until you get bored. God, you have the perfect girl-next-door look, Mary. A tomboy with great tits and hair..."

Not waiting for a response, Felicia reaches over to tighten the knot on Michelle's shirt and lift it up higher to bare more of her toned midriff. Michelle swallows thickly and fights the urge to pull it down. This is just a covert mission, she reminds herself, just like any other undercover SHIELD assignment she's ever done.

"The only real rules for my performers are: no drugs, no tattoos, and no fucking the guests."

"And no full nudity?" Michelle asks again, her cheeks flushing. 

Felicia’s red lips curl up into a feral smile. "Not at _Le Chat_. We like to keep them wanting more. I do own other establishments that do fully nude, if you're interested—"

"No, I'm good," says Michelle, trying to keep her voice steady, "with this _Le Chat Noir_ gig."

It's not even really about the money—a part of her is deeply curious if she could pull this off, despite zero planning and no resources but herself. Maybe she could show The Spider how spontaneous she really could be.

Felicia raises an eyebrow at her. "This gig is only what you make of it, Mary."

"It's Mary Jane," replies Michelle, feeling possessive of her new cover. 

"I like that," says Felicia, reaching over to play with a lock of Michelle's dark red hair. "Mary Jane: the playful, almost-innocent girl next door, a gateway drug to naughtier behavior. See? I knew you'd have what it takes." She flicks the red locks back in Michelle's face. "Curtains go up at eight, so you've got two hours to get ready—"

Michelle's jaw drops, and she doesn't have to fake the dumb shock on her face. "Wait, what? Tonight? I-I'm not ready—"

"You'll do fabulously," Felicia waves her off. “You can shower in your dressing room and we’ll get you all dressed and dolled up. And here's your first half, five hundred in cash.”

Michelle takes a deep breath. She can do this. It'll just be a room full of strangers she never has to interact with or see again. Agent Jones once took down a militant dictator while posing as a fashion model, and infiltrated an oil sheik's private London compound by pretending to be an Oxford-educated escort. This would be child's play—albeit on stage in front of a theater filled with people instead of behind closed doors.

Breathing slowly to calm her nerves down, Michelle nods and reaches out to take the money and shake Felicia’s hand. "Okay, deal."

Smiling wolfishly, the other woman digs the tips of her dark nails into the back of her hand.

"Good. Show me what you've got, Mary Jane."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Spider-Man: Noir (Eyes Without a Face)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary Jane takes the stage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise humpday chapter! This was actually part of the last chapter but got too long for this self indulgent pulp fic :P

_Oh, my my, oh, hell yes_   
_Honey, put on that party dress_   
_Buy me a drink, sing me a song_   
_Take me as I come 'cause I can't stay long_

_—Freedom Fry, "_ [ _Mary Jane's Last Dance_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/2tshWNlLaKUmRBXgyGk8Gd?si=Cu0uXFrdQFa7ozEEpNAFDA) _"_

===

The first clue that the nightclub is, in all likelihood, a popular mobster hangout, is how _Le Chat_ requires guests to leave their cellphones _and_ guns at the door. That also explains why the job pays so well, which is a trade-off Michelle is very willing to make.

Plus, aside from the charged air of constant imminent danger and criminal activity, it's still a pretty classy venue—no photography allowed inside, and no touching the performers or cocktail servers without a lifetime ban and loss of a minor digit.

That doesn't stop Michelle's thumping heart from rising up into her throat, though, whenever she peeks out at the crowd through the stage curtains. There are just so many people around the platform of the stage, and she feels like there's either too much or not enough makeup on her face. She wishes she could wear a mask out there, so they don't see how nervous she really is.

But Mary Jane _is_ her mask, so she throws her hair back and straightens her shoulders, readying herself for her curtain call.

Strutting across the stage in sky high red-soled stilettos, Michelle reminds herself that she's chased down armed targets wearing worse footwear.

The stage lights burn bright in her face as she starts to sway, and she gulps whenever she feels the nervous flutter rise in her stomach. Trying not to look at anyone in the crowd, she concentrates on the music instead, closing her eyes and letting the thumping bass guide her body.

When she musters a bit more courage, Michelle glances quickly around the room, curious and terrified at the same time. It’s mostly a blur of seated suits and cocktail dresses, and much less intimidating than she had imagined while behind stage. 

Schooling her face into a cool mask of indifference, she is unfeeling and distant, untouchable.

Then inch by inch, she strips down to a full-body bustier, revealing thigh high stockings held up by satin garters. She lets down her hair next, shaking it out slowly, and tries not to hide behind the long locks too much. 

Feeling more emboldened, Michelle arches her back and looks over her shoulder at the audience, her dark eyes smoldering as they sweep across the faces in the crowd. Maybe instead of being nervous about them, they should be afraid of her.

That’s when she catches his eyes from across the room, her heart stops, and all the air escapes her lungs. 

Standing by a back exit with his arms crossed, Peter is staring right back at her, his jaw tight and serious. His gaze is dark and focused on her and only her. A lightheadedness rushes through her body, and Michelle isn't sure if it is panic or excitement. Maybe both. 

But she can't tell if he's upset or not. Peter could be absolutely furious right now, silently fuming as he watches her getting undressed in front of strangers. Or maybe, she hopes, it might be turning him on, just a little bit?

She's not used to being unable to get inside his head. Peter's usually an open book to her—well, at least that's what she used to think, back when she thought she knew who he was. Maybe Michelle never really knew what was going on inside Peter's head after all. 

Sweat trickles down her neck and down between her breasts as she dances, her skin glistening and hot. Her body is burning from everyone's hungry eyes on her, but she’s aching for _him_ and desperately wants his hands and mouth all over her right now.

Just like that night when they first met, she thinks to herself, when they were deliriously drunk on rum and high on each other. Michelle wants to remind Peter what it was like dancing in the rain to live cumbia music, teasing and touching each other until they couldn't stand it any longer, until he couldn't control himself with her anymore.

Drawing on every drop of confidence in her body, Michelle looks over her shoulder at Peter and winks at him. His expression remains unmoved, but she can tell he's enjoying at least some of it by the way he keeps looking her up and down. 

Everything in the room around them seems to dim until it's only darkness surrounding the two of them, until she forgets that there's anyone else at all—it's only her and Peter, and the only thing she can feel is the heat of his gaze washing over her.

Squeezing her thighs together, she tries to ignore the throbbing between her legs and channels it into her movements instead. Her body is moving of its own accord now, writhing and shimmying just for him. She wants to make Peter forget about everything and everyone else in the room except for her. 

When the music ends, the crowd's whistles and applause seem to break the spell, and light fills the room again. Michelle is back on stage at _Le Chat Noir_ , sweating and breathless, aroused. 

But when she glances up, Peter is gone, no longer standing at his place by the back exit. She can't find where he's gone off to, and disappointment clouds her mood. 

With a final scan of the room for Peter, Michelle hurries off stage and back into the dressing room before her nerves can catch up with her.

===

The way Michelle moved was so mesmerizing, Peter couldn't tear his eyes away from her the entire time she was up there. The long lines of her legs and lean curves of her body, the perfect arch of her back, the swell of her breasts over her lingerie top, and her hair—fuck, her _hair_. 

He wanted to tangle his fingers in her thick curls and tug, pull her head back so he could kiss the column of that perfect brown throat and feel her moan under his lips.

As soon as her performance ended, Peter had made a beeline to the nearest bar for an ice cold drink and a chance to calm down the stiffness in his pants. 

He's about to finish his whiskey and go look for her backstage when a familiar husky voice calls out to him.

"Looks like my new girl caught your eye." Felicia slides into the empty space next to him at the bar, wafting her perfume in her wake. "What would your dear wife say?"

Peter clears his throat and looks at the ice in his tumbler. "Nothing wrong with looking."

A feral smile breaks across the woman's face. "Good to know your rules can be so… flexible."

"What's, um, what's her name?" He asks, wondering if Felicia knows who she really is. "The wo—girl up there tonight, the tall one?"

His voice and heart rate remain steady, trained to give nothing away, but deep in his gut is his worst fear: that Michelle's been targeted and found out because of him. 

"She goes by Mary Jane," replies Felicia, looking at her nails. "Just started today, actually. Not much experience, but she's got the right stuff, don't you think?"

"Can I meet her?"

Felicia crosses her arms and purses her dark red lips, thinking. "Guests really aren't supposed to fraternize with my performers, this isn't that kind of place," she says slowly. "But… if Mary Jane doesn't mind having you around—and I mean it, one complaint from her and you're gone, buster!"

Nodding, Peter raises his hands up appeasingly. "Mary Jane calls the shots, got it. I can live with that."

"Right. Well, if she doesn't mind having you around, then I might be able to look the other way," says Felicia, tilting her nose up. "But you try anything funny and you're fish food, got that?"

A million questions are racing through Peter's head, but above all, he needs to get to Michelle, so he nods. "Yes, ma'am."

_===_

"You're not supposed to be back here," Michelle whispers when she opens the dressing room door.

"Sorry," says Peter, scratching the back of his neck. His big brown eyes look up at her, wide and abashed, but he doesn't seem very sorry as he leans on the doorframe and takes up the whole space.

"Just get in here before someone sees you," she sighs, tugging him in by the arm.

"Everyone was looking at you tonight," he says, eying the scattered lingerie on the floor and over her chair.

"Oh yeah? It's like, they were there to watch me dance or something," she teases, tying up her hair.

"But you were only looking at me," he continues, voice low.

"Don't flatter yourself," says Michelle, "I was looking at that new bouncer next to you, Brad something."

"Oh really?" Peter’s eyes darken as he looks her up and down, but then a serious look crosses his face. 

As she gets dressed, he tells her about meeting Felicia earlier that day at the other bar she owns, and his suspicions that both of her businesses are crime family spots.

"Duh, of course they are," says Michelle, wriggling back into the dress Felicia let her borrow for the show. She tells him about going to the address on the card she found, meeting Felicia, and getting roped into the dancing gig—and how much she unexpectedly enjoyed it. 

Peter grins and slides his arms around her waist. "You're a natural up there. May I walk you home, Mary Jane?"

"Oh gosh! I don't know if that's appropriate," she mock-gasps, her hands coming down to grip his forearms. "I've only just met you tonight. Not to mention, you're a club guest and I'm just the new girl…"

Peter nuzzles her neck and murmurs in her ear, "You were amazing up there tonight, new girl."

"Yeah?"

"You must've danced up an appetite, though," he continues, kissing her jaw.

"I'm actually starving," she admits, lifting her chin to give him better access to her neck. 

"Good. Me, too."

They go to a 24-hour diner for the milkshakes and fries that Peter promised her. It feels strange, like they're coming back from prom or a homecoming dance—walking hand in hand, with his black suit jacket hanging over her shoulders. It barely covers the glittery dress that ends high on her thighs, though she's changed back into her Converse sneakers.

They slide into a booth at the diner, giggling and filled with nerves for some reason. 

"Does my makeup look insane here, under the fluorescent lights?" Michelle wipes away the glitter and running makeup under her eyes with her fingertips. 

"You look beautiful, Mary Jane," says Peter, pushing the fries over to her. "You always do."

"You're only saying that 'cause you wanna get laid," she says, dipping a fry into the ketchup and pointing it at Peter's face. "So tell me, you feelin' lucky tonight, punk?"

He wants to say that he feels lucky every day that he's with her, that he can't believe she's stuck by him through all of this. 

But he just shrugs and sips on his chocolate milkshake, giving her a cryptic grin. 

It's almost two in the morning when they get back to the safe house. 

"I've missed you," he groans, pulling her closer and kissing her throat. He doesn't mean just today, but the past week of tiptoeing past each other in the safe house, like they were back in their suburban cul-de-sac in New Jersey.

"Don't stop," she gasps, tugging his hair and scratching at his arms and back. 

He runs his hands up her stomach, savoring the sounds she's making.

Her eyes roll to the back of her head and Michelle cries out for him, thighs clenching desperately around his hips. Pleasure washes over her in hot mind-numbing waves, and she greedily takes everything he gives her, down to the very last drop.

**===**

"You fucked a guest last night," Felicia says the moment Michelle walks into her dressing room at _Le Chat_ the next day. She's been waiting, sitting in the red velvet armchair in the corner, one leg draped over the arm.

"What?" Michelle replies, wide-eyed, and drops her bag off at her makeup station. "No, I didn't."

"I saw you leaving with him," Felicia counters. 

"It wasn't like that," says Michelle, pretending to blush, and plops herself down before the vanity. "He offered to walk me home, and we just went to a diner, the one on Virginia Street. You can ask 'em, they saw us come in—"

"Calm your tits, I'm not pissed," Felicia interrupts, hopping onto her feet. "But you need to be careful, Indiana. Ain't cows and pastures out here, just wolves fighting over scraps."

Michelle shrugs. "He was just... really nice. He seemed different from other guys."

A vicious smile unfurls on Felicia's lips as she stands over Michelle, looking down at her.

"Men aren't always who they seem to be," she warns. "Who knows, your beau could secretly be a wanted fugitive or serial killer. Maybe both."

Michelle's not sure if she's imagining it, but a knowing glint in Felicia's eyes makes her wonder if that was just a lucky guess. She inhales sharply, and her genuinely nervous chuckle helps sell her act.

"I really don't think so," says Michelle. "He's such a puppy. Held the door for me and everything…"

Her boss shrugs, letting her long blonde hair fall over her shoulder. "He didn't take you back to his place, did he?"

Michelle shakes her head. "He just dropped me off at my place after the diner. I mean, it was just a first date—not that he's asked me on a second one. Do you think I should've asked him to come in? But you told me not to—"

"He's got a bounty on his head, y'know."

The blood runs cold in Michelle's veins. "What? Who's after him?"

"Everyone. The Maggia families, Fisk, probably Osborn and Crime-Master. The mob's most wanted, for all the shit he's done to the other families. They're also saying he sold out his own to SHIELD or something. Worst of the worst—he’s a rat, a traitor." Felicia turns Michelle's chair around so they're face to face. "But if we get him first, we get the entire bounty to ourselves."

"You want me to help you trap Peter for a bunch of criminals?"

"If he's who I think he is," Felicia affirms. "The Maggia have been on the lookout for some hitman from New York, _The Spider_. Willing to pay big for him."

Michelle pouts, twisting her dark red tresses around her fingers. "Are you sure Peter's this Spider-guy or whatever? He seemed like a huge dork to me."

The other woman gives her a pitying look. "He's no good, babe. You don't want to get mixed up with these mobster types, trust me. Entertain them for the night, sure, but it's messy business, and not the fun kind."

"Why do you need my help? Can't you just tell the Maggia where he is?" Biting her lip, Michelle hopes that was a decent gamble to get more information out of the other woman.

"If he really is who I think he is, nothing short of a small army would take him down, and he'd have to be caught unaware—maybe with his pants down."

"I don't get where I fit into all that," says Michelle, looking up at Felicia, who rolls her eyes.

"I think Spider has a type, and I think you should take advantage of that."

"And what type is that?"

The blonde sneers, her white teeth gleaming. "Pretty, dumb, but innocent. No offense, Mary."

"Mary _Jane,_ " Michelle says sharply, but keeps her face impassive. If not for her SHIELD training, she might have bitch slapped her boss already.

"Right. Did he tell you he's married?"

"What? No, he's not married," Michelle replies quickly. 

"He told me he was married, got all flustered because he doesn't know what to do with an intimidating woman," Felicia sniffs, pretending not to care. "But maybe he just wants a Mary Plain. A girl who's easy to impress, while he's just passing through town."

Pursing her lips tightly together, Michelle makes to stand up but Felicia pushes her back down, bearing her weight on her.

“Remember this," says Felicia, gripping Michelle by the shoulders. "You work for me, and that means you work for who I work for, and they do not fuck around. Your job is easy—keep Spider distracted and make sure he stays in town until the boss gets here.”

"I thought _you_ were the boss, Felicia." She shrugs the other woman's hands off, but Felicia just digs her nails in harder.

"We all got bosses. Some dock your pay for a poor performance, and others dock a limb or neck," says Felicia, unfazed.

Michelle narrows her eyes at her. "The new opener girls you keep needing to replace—they don't actually end up in Vegas, do they?"

"They might," shrugs Felicia, roughly releasing her grip on Michelle. "Or at least parts of them might. But if you listen and do as you're told, you might make it out of Reno in one piece. Think you can handle that, Indiana?”

“Yeah, I think I can handle that,” Michelle nods, feigning discomfort and fear as she rubs her shoulders, glaring at her boss. 

A bright flirty smile returns to Felicia's face when she's satisfied that Mary Jane would behave, and she proceeds to instruct her on how to go about keeping Peter interested.

Michelle, to her credit, doesn't let her face twitch one bit while this bitch tries to teach her how to seduce her own husband.

===


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary Jane's takes care of a potential threat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: minor character death, uncomfortable sexual situations

_He hit me and it felt like a kiss_  
_I can hear violins, violins_  
_Give me all of that ultraviolence_

_We can go, back to New York_  
_Loving you was really hard…_

_—Lana Del Ray,["Ultraviolence"](https://open.spotify.com/track/1y3r6RXiJZNBV1EI0NggpS?si=G27S_3c0QACa4BywwafvOg)_

===

  
  


"You'll make me late," Michelle warns when Peter slides his hand up under her skirt and gently tugs at her underwear. 

"I just wanna make sure you're nice and relaxed when you get up there," he says innocently, still skimming his fingers down her calves.

"How thoughtful of you," she says sarcastically, glancing at Peter's reflection in the mirror as she continues getting ready for her next shift at Le Chat. "Though that didn't seem to bother you last time…"

Before her previous show, his hand had gotten her to the very trembling edge of her orgasm, then quickly withdrew, leaving her gasping and empty when she got on stage. Determined to give him a dose of his own medicine, Michelle moved her hips in that way he likes while she danced. By the time she was done, Peter almost tripped over himself twice running to meet her backstage. 

"Oh, trust me, I was plenty bothered," he replies, grinning at her through the mirror. 

Raising an eyebrow at him, Michelle tilts her head away and carefully puts on Felicia's earrings, one at a time, the gems glittering under the vanity light as they dangle down her long neck.

Felicia’s been lending Michelle all sorts of jewelry and perfume to "elevate" her allure, so she can hold onto The Spider’s attention ("The innocent farm girl thing is only going to work for so long, Indiana."). 

Her lips twitch with annoyance. She doesn't need a stranger—no matter how gravity-defying her tits are—telling Michelle how to entice Peter, least of all someone that doesn't know the first thing about him.

It's not lost on Michelle, though, the irony of her possessiveness over Peter, when she didn't really know him at all in the three years they'd been married. At least, not the _real_ him. 

But in the span of two weeks on the run, she's come to know who Peter really is underneath, or at least she began scratching the surface, and he's even better than his fake cover ever was. 

She hopes he feels the same way about her. 

Mary Jane's been working at Le Chat for almost a week now, and Peter has come to all of her shows—namely to keep his ear to the ground while looking for his mysterious West Coast contact. But he always stops in the middle of what he's doing to watch her, and then meets her in the back to walk her home. 

When she's not dancing, Michelle has table service duty, which gives her the perfect cover to eavesdrop and casually squeeze information out of Le Chat's guests. She’s pieced together some of the west coast crime families’ hierarchies and put names to faces of some key players—all while constantly on the lookout for familiar faces catching up to them.

Peter and Michelle had deliberated long and hard about whether or not to run before Felicia’s boss got to Reno. On one hand, they could put a sizable distance behind them by the time the Maggia wised up, but they’d be driving blindly without any destination in mind, at least not until Peter made contact with his guy.

Staying in town goes against everything she's been trained for—SHIELD taught her to clear the scene as soon as possible, evade, hide. But they'll only keep coming after them; today it's Peter, and Michelle could very well be the target tomorrow.

So they decide to stay and face whatever comes, together. Sheltered in their little bubble of bliss, they savor their last few days as Mary Jane Watson and Peter Parker, as if the rest of the world didn't exist and tomorrow didn't matter.

Besides, Felicia wouldn't let something happen to her bounty before she could turn him in. 

"Two hundred fifty three," Peter reminds her of her kill count whenever she gets nervous. "Whoever Felicia's boss is, is gonna be a piece of cake, okay? Top two hitters right here, you and me, remember?"

She manages a small smile for him. "Yeah, that's right, _second best_."

But a job has never felt so personal before—because it wasn't a job. They'll be fighting for their lives, and she doesn't know if she can stay as cool and collected as she needs to.

When she’s done getting ready, Michelle turns around to show Peter her final look. His jaw drops.

"I really hit the jackpot, huh?" says Peter, eyes drifting up and down her body.

“Don’t you forget it,” she replies coolly, shaking her curly hair out one last time.

“I won't. Not again,” he says softly but determinedly, gazing up at her from his seated position. "I know I wasn't the best at paying attention when I should've. I'm sorry, Mich—"

She clears her throat loudly to cut him off and widens her eyes at him. The door to her dressing room is closed, but she doesn’t put it past Felicia to bug the room. "Doesn't matter, _Parker_."

"Sorry, Mary Jane," says Peter, looking up at her, abashed.

“You can call me MJ. If that's easier."

"MJ... I like that. It suits you," he replies, taking her by the hand and kissing the back of each one in turn.

She turns her hands around to cup his face in her palms, kneels down before him and kisses him on the lips.

So much for getting nice and relaxed—her heart begins to race, and she can't stop touching him, even if she'll have to redo her hair and makeup all over again.

_===_

_Do they all know?_ Michelle wonders as she struts on stage, teasingly removing a silk robe to reveal some lacy lingerie underneath. 

Can the audience tell that just minutes before her show, she was on her knees, blowing Peter in her dressing room? The way Peter had groaned and called her _MJ_ , with his fingers tangled in her hair—she replays the moment over and over again to get herself warmed up.

Can they all see where her lipstick got smeared off and then hurriedly reapplied, or the runny mascara from when she took him extra deep? Do they know how she swallowed all of it?

But Peter isn’t at his usual spot in the club tonight, and she tries to keep her disappointment from clouding her head. Maybe he's finally gotten a hold of his contact, which is why they were spending so much time at _Le Chat_ anyway. 

If so, tonight could very well be her last show, and she's not sure if she's relieved, or maybe a tiny bit sad to see Mary Jane go. She's liked how much Mary Jane doesn't care about anything, how she can let the catcalls roll off her and just shoots back with her own insults. Most of all, she likes how Mary Jane can drive Peter wild; spontaneous and adventurous, she's the girl he's always wanted, Michelle thinks.

Just as she's given up on finding Peter and starts heading backstage, a man in an expensive-looking suit comes up to the stage platform and gestures at her to come over, making sure she notices the very nice watch glinting on his wrist. 

Up close, she sees that he's younger than he tries to let on, with his long lashes and cheeky grin. He tells her that she’s the best dancer he’s seen in Reno and asks for her name, and she indulges him.

"Forget just Reno, you might be the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. And I’ve been all over the world," he says smugly. With a hand on her hip, Michelle arches a dubious eyebrow at him, but he doesn’t notice. "Can I buy you a drink, Mary Jane?"

Her feet are killing her and she’d do anything for a hot shower, but Michelle still manages a tight smile for the guest. "No thanks. I don't drink when I'm working."

"How about after? Do you do... private evenings?”

She bites her lip to hold in a snide remark, but the itching heat of indignance creeps up her neck and face anyway. "Only for very special patrons," she says curtly, glancing around for Peter again.

"Well, I'm pretty special," he insists, flashing a toothy smile.

“I’m sure you think so,” Michelle replies tersely. She makes to leave again, but he blocks her way.

"I'll give you twenty to spend the night with me," he says boldly.

Michelle barely refrains from rolling her eyes—as if she'd sleep with a stranger for barely half of her lowest-paying hitjobs. 

Sensing her disdain, the patron clarifies, "I mean twenty _grand_ , as in thousands—"

"I know what you meant," she says icily. "And the answer is no. I'm not that kind of girl, and this isn't a bunny ranch."

"I said I'd _give_ it to you, not pay you," he insists, like it makes a difference. “Mary Jane, I know you’d be worth every penny.”

"Still a hard pass for me."

That only seems to motivate him more. He doesn't seem accustomed to hearing 'no' and only presses harder. "Come on, Mary Jane, what's it gonna take?"

“A lot more than you can offer,” she says, turning to leave.

"Twenty five, and there could be more for you next time, if things go well tonight," he says, following her out to the back of the club.

"I'm not haggling with you," she snaps. "We're not allowed to sleep with guests anyway."

"I didn't have sleeping in mind," he retorts, reaching to touch her shoulder. “Listen, Mary Jane. You know what kind of establishment this is, right? Your clientele’s _associations_?”

Michelle nods, bored. “Yeah, mobsters. I know.”

“Good. Well, I'm Harry Osborn,” he says, happily name-dropping himself.

She gives him a helpless shrug, pretending not to know what that means. "Sorry, doesn’t ring a bell. I’m from Indiana."

But Michelle _does_ know who Harry Osborn is—only son of Norman Osborn, also known as the Goblin, an underworld mob boss with a reputation as a freelancer among New York City's politicians and businessmen. The Osborns are regularly hired to commit crimes on behalf of parties who want to keep their hands clean, like suppressing public protests to assassinating dissidents.

From what she’s read of the Osborn file, Harry is more of a trust-funded mobster kid who was sent away to boarding school, rather than the typical militant enforcer-heir who's been groomed since he could load a gun. Which means Norman Osborn never intended for his son to take over the family business, at least not in a way that requires Harry to get his hands dirty.

“So what’s a big important guy like you doing in Reno?” asks Michelle, trying her best to smile sweetly, but it just makes her face feel like frozen plastic.

"I'm here for work,” Harry replies cryptically, and she can tell how much he enjoys saying that.

"Yeah? What kinda work?"

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," Harry teases, leaning in closer now that he has her attention, "and that would be such a waste of that pretty face.”

She tilts her head, letting Felicia’s earring tickle her shoulder, and deadpans, "How'd you know I can't resist dangerous men?" 

"I'm as dangerous as they come, baby."

Quickly profiling him, Michelle determines that Harry’s likely not a threat by himself, but it’s concerning that east coast crime families are popping up in town already. There's no reason for Osborn's heir to be in Reno, except for one thing: The Spider. 

She can’t let him get to Peter, or it will be open season once it gets out among the other crime families that someone got visual confirmation on The Spider's current location. _Agent Jones_ needs to find out how much Harry actually knows about The Spider and who he's working with—and, if necessary, neutralize the threat. 

"Fine," she says, relenting. "Meet me outside in twenty minutes."

Harry smiles triumphantly, and she can see how a girl can trip over herself trying to please him, just to get that reaction. "Perfect. I'll see you then, Mary Jane."

===

The moment they step into his hotel suite, Michelle immediately scans the rooms for exits, noting the location of all the windows and doors throughout the penthouse.

While Harry's in the bathroom, she starts rifling through the papers on the desk, pulling open drawers until she finds a folder of notes on The Spider, and a loaded gun with a silencer. She narrows her eyes. Harry doesn’t strike her as a fastidious investigator, and she doubts he’s even read the notes, much less compiled them. 

She can probably just knock him out and take the files and briefcase, destroy them after. Harry will probably be lost without someone else’s homework to guide him.

Next, Michelle crouches down to sort through the briefcase on the ground. That's when she sees it, a photograph of Peter sticking out of a side pocket. 

But before she can grab it, she hears the toilet flush so she rushes back to the bed.

"Hey gorgeous, you miss me?" says Harry, coming out of the bathroom and rubbing his nose. His dilated pupils dart around the room, and he’s twitchy and alert. 

"Hi," she says, trying to push the briefcase away with her foot.

"You’re nervous," he says. “Don't be."

"I'm not nervous," she replies evenly, crossing her arms over her body.

"Well, you should be," says Harry, and it sounds more threatening than flirty. Inspecting her up and down, he pulls her closer and tells her how much she looks like his ex-fiance.

"You're prettier than her, though," he compliments, and waits for Michelle to thank him. 

She stares at him, expressionless, and narrows her eyes.

“Come on, Mary Jane,” says Harry, irritated. “You can drop the hard-to-get act. We both know girls like you can only dream of meeting a guy like me." He grabs her by both arms, and his touch is controlling and rough. "It was fun earlier, but now it’s starting to get annoying. If I wanted to work for it, I wouldn't have picked up a stripper—”

"I'm not a stripper," Michelle says coldly, shaking him off. 

"Exotic dancer, go-go girl, whatever," he waves her off dismissively. "But you're not at _Le Chat_ now, you're with me. That means you're _mine_ tonight. Call it whatever you want."

All coked up and belligerent, Harry tells her to undress. When she suggests that they take it slow, he grabs her by the arm and tells her that if she doesn't listen to him, then he'd have to make her listen.

Feeling her anger rise like bile in her throat, Michelle takes a deep calming breath, and tucks her hair behind her ear. “It’s only you tonight, right? No surprise group things? I hate when clients do that—”

“Only me,” Harry confirms, his charming smile returning as he steps closer towards her again. “I came out here ahead of my father’s enforcer and hitters. Left my security detail behind, too. They'll all want credit for taking down The Spider, but _I’m_ gonna be the one that gets him!” 

“The who?”

“You’ve never heard of—?” His eyes are wild, darting around excitedly as he gets to describe his plan to her in great detail, describing the vanity kill he's always been dreaming of. 

"The bounty's lower if he's dead, but I don't need the money," Harry says disdainfully. "I'm gonna kill The Spider and show everyone what a _real_ Osborn can do. He’s nothing without whatever gadgets Stark pays for anyway.” 

Next, he starts cutting a row of white powder on the mirrored desk tray, and tells her she can either do a line or show him what he paid for.

Her face calm and betraying nothing, Michelle purses her lips together. Now would be a good time to knock him unconscious, but she needs to confirm how much he knows about Peter outside of the case files—in case Harry warrants a more permanent remediation.

Keeping the briefcase within her sights, Michelle slowly unzips her dress and wriggles out of it. Harrys’ eyes bulge as he stares at her shiny black latex corset and long black evening gloves.

"You stick with me, baby. I'm on my way up!" He declares loudly. "I'm gonna be as big as my father's ever been, bigger!"

"Sure, Harry, sure you are," she replies, unable to hold back the dripping sarcasm.*

"Don't believe me?" He gets up and pulls her toward the desk, twitching excitedly. 

Opening up the briefcase, he shows her photographs of Peter in Black Hawk: stills from security videos, surveillance shots from afar with a telescope lense, and blurry images of the silver sedan Tony gave them, the one they've hidden in the safe house garage.

She shrugs, unimpressed. "Are you sure that's really him? That Spider-Man guy? He looks so… not intimidating."

Harry’s irritation and neediness is almost palpable. Just another guy with something to prove. "Oh, he's dangerous all right. Not as dangerous as _I_ am, of course, but you can never tell just by appearances who's actually a stone cold killer."

Absent-mindedly tracing one of the photos, Michelle hums in agreement. “Yeah. I guess you can't."

"And I'm not just gonna shoot him, either. Anyone can do that," says Harry, looking at her intently. 

Michelle bites down on her lip hard, so she won't blurt out how wrong he is, and, that the only person who's ever come remotely close to shooting The Spider dead was _her_ , and only because Peter had let her come that close.

"I'm going to make it memorable when I kill him," he continues, "so everyone, especially my father, knows it was _me_ that got The Spider. I'll cut off his head and mount it on my wall if I have to." 

Furrowing her brows, Michelle inspects the photographs spread out before her, and recognition slowly dawns on her. The kinds of surveillance shots and angles, the methodology and quality of them.

“I don’t think you took these photos.”

Harry lets out an indignant sound. "Oh yeah? Well maybe you shouldn't think so much." He’s still smiling but it doesn't reach his eyes. "And keep that pretty nose outta my business."**

This looks and smells like a SHIELD case file all over. She can’t let it drop. “How did you get a hold of them? Who gave them to you?”

Sighing heavily, Harry reaches into a desk drawer and pulls out the pistol she saw earlier. "Look, I was going to make this quick and painless. But you had to go and do something to make me mad—and you won't like how I get when I'm mad—"**

He grabs her roughly and locks her arms behind her back, hissing in her ear, "So, you think your boyfriend's gonna come looking for you here, or am I going to have to leave him a trail with bits of you?"

“What? I don't know what you're talking about—”

“Don’t play stupid, Mary Jane. Forget the fucking files, I saw him coming out of your room at the club.” 

_So much for just knocking him out._

Michelle shakes her head, her eyes sweeping the room. “I didn’t know he was Spider-Man—”

“That's a stupid name. It’s _The Spider,_ ” Harry corrects her, nudging the muzzle of the gun into her side. "Now you're going to call him and tell him to come here, alone and unarmed. But try anything funny and I'll blow your brains all over this carpet, even if it's a waste of perfectly good pussy."

Instead of backing away from him, Michelle slowly maneuvers herself closer. "Well, after you get this Spider guy or whatever, you'll be the new hot shot 'round here, right? So why don't you put down that gun and show me what'd you do if you got everything that was his?"

Groaning appreciatively, Harry pulls her into his lap. She tries not to squirm too much or let her disgust show, but he seems to be enjoying her discomfort anyway. 

Meanwhile, his gun slides to the floor while Harry's too busy groping at whatever he can. Michelle laughs loudly at something he says to keep him distracted and kicks the gun further away from them.

Running her fingers through his auburn hair, Michelle tightens her grip around the sides of his head. 

"Hey, careful with the hair," he snaps. 

But she doesn't let go, just leans in closer and asks, “Did you really think I’d let you come anywhere near Peter?”

"Huh?" Harry furrows his brows in annoyance and confusion.

"You're right about one thing, Harry," Michelle continues, digging her fingertips into his head. "You can't tell just by appearances who's actually a stone cold killer."

His eyes widen with a flash of terror when he realizes through his coked up haze what’s about to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Spider-Man: Noir (Eyes Without a Face)  
> ** Spider-Man: Noir (2009)
> 
> There was a strong desire from readers to kill off Harry in Black Dahlia, so here you go!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary Jane gives Peter Parker a night to remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated for a very long time about the differences between Mature and Explicit in hopes of convincing myself that this was still Rated M. But I ultimately had to admit that this chapter is Probably Definitely and Totally Explicit™
> 
> But you guys have been such awesome readers and totally earned The Smut, so screw it! Can't be a guilty-pleasure trashy pulp fic without it....
> 
> Happy Valentine's weekend!

_There'll be no rest for the wicked_   
_There's no song for the choir_   
_There's no hope for the weary_   
_If you let them win without a fight_

_I let my good one down_   
_I let my true love die_   
_I had his heart but I broke it every time_

_—Lykke Li,["No Rest for the Wicked"](https://open.spotify.com/track/2gCvWjrHt6PVJjIN1amlje?si=QCs9a2OxRjOsIQkIlwwsWQ)_

===

Peter has always loved Michelle's hair—he loves it in its original brown, in the new red shade of her current alias, and he'll love it when it's grey. 

He hopes he gets to see it go grey.

Peter also loves burying his face in her hair, and watching the curls shake as the rest of her body arches and moves when 'Mary Jane' dances. 

But his favorite part of her shows is when she catches his eye and gives him that mischievous smile that makes her lower cheek dimple. Then it's like there's no one else in the entire club but the two of them. 

But he doesn't get the chance to enjoy that tonight.

After leaving her dressing room, he'd caught sight of a hammerhead shark tattoo on the arm of some thug hovering by the bar. Michelle’s show hadn’t begun yet, so Peter tailed the guy when he left the club, only to discover that Hammerhead, don of the east coast Maggia family, is in town early and laying low at some front masquerading as a run-down laundromat. 

After seeing what he needed to see and crawling back down the side of the building, Peter had raced back to _Le Chat_ , but he was still too late and ended up missing Michelle's entire performance. Pushing aside his disappointment, he heads for her dressing room with grim purpose.

He needs to warn her that Hammerhead is already in town to collect Felicia—and Mary Jane's—bounty, and they'd have to be ready to execute their half-baked plan sooner than expected.

They should have run when they had the chance.

"Fuck," Peter mutters under his breath when Michelle is no where to be seen in her dressing room. She seems to have changed out of her stage clothes in a rush, the lacy pieces left strewn over her chair.

On her vanity, he finds a note in Michelle's handwriting with an address and a time, in a simple cipher she and Peter had agreed to use for written notes. It was only meant to be used in dangerous situations when they were being watched.

So he goes to the address, which turns out to be a fancy casino hotel with neon lights, gaudy, ornate gold decor and faux-Tuscan paintings. 

His heart is thundering in his ears and everything sounds like he's underwater as he's trying to keep that doomed feeling at bay, not daring to consider what could be happening to Michelle right now. The Spider has never had to work on a team before, so he's never had to worry about anyone else but himself on a mission, and it's terrifying.

He hates not knowing what's going on, not knowing what the plan is, and having to rely on and trust someone else. Is this why Michelle always plans everything down to the last detail when she can? To feel in control? 

As Peter makes his way through the haze of cigarette smoke on the gaming floor, past the colorful spinning slot machines and crowded card tables, he clenches his fists and tries to be patient.

The note said midnight, which is still twenty minutes away, but Peter doesn't think he can wait that long. Anxious and itching to do _something,_ anything other than wait around while something is going down behind closed doors, he takes a deep breath and tries to think of this as just another job, maybe a stakeout.

Unless the tattooed thug was a plant, meant to lure him away from the club while Hammerhead's other men went after Mary Jane—

With a panicked huff, Peter hits the elevator button and watches the lit-up floor numbers count down at an achingly slow pace, and curses under his breath when it stalls several floors away for other passengers. Smacking the door in frustration, he leaves the elevator bank and takes the stairs up to the penthouse floor, racing up the fifteen flights and wishing he could just put on his suit to climb up and through the window from outside. 

It crosses his mind that if his worst fears are true, then he'd be walking right into a trap. But he doesn't have any other choice, he can't just leave her to face the Maggia alone. And if the worst has already happened, then Peter wouldn't have any reason to hold back anymore, and he'd spend the rest of his days hunting each of them down.

Eleven fifty. Ten more minutes. He can wait ten minutes, he'll just count down the seconds as his legs carry him to the door of the suite, even though a lot can happen in ten minutes… 

When he arrives, he hears muffled voices through the door, a man's voice, and then Michelle's laugh. He can almost make out what they're saying, their voices low and flirtatious, and it makes his blood seethe in his veins.

Then everything goes quiet. Peter holds his breath and steps closer to the door with his ear turned towards it. When he hears a loud grunt and the sound of a scuffle against the floor, he jiggles the locked doorknob furiously until he gives up and kicks it in, then barges through the door. 

Inside, he finds Michelle standing in the middle of the room, alive and whole, wearing only a shiny black latex corset, evening gloves, and high heels. Her dress and trench coat are on the floor—discarded with haste, he notes with a sickening feeling in his stomach. 

But as his eyes follow the trail of clothes, he sees a man lying on the floor face down with his head turned at an odd angle, unmoving.

Peter looks back up at his wife. She shrugs.

"Is he…?"

"As a doornail," Michelle replies evenly, her face unreadable as she peels off her long black gloves. Glancing at the clock in the nightstand, she adds, "You're early. First for everything, huh?"

Her cheeks are flushed and sweat dots her collarbone and her brow; she's excited but trying to remain calm, chest heaving. A post-kill glow, Peter supposes, letting himself drink in the sight of her.

After Michelle pulls her dress back on over the latex, she turns with her back to Peter. "Zip me up?"

Her hair's gotten longer, Peter notices, as he runs his fingers through her curls to sweep them around to the front, exposing her back to him. Her brown skin prickles with goosebumps, and he leans in close to press his lips to the nape of her neck. She shivers but doesn't turn around.

"Are you okay?" he asks, lingering close to her, his heart still racing. He swallows thickly, willing his heart to calm down, reminding himself that Michelle is safe right now.

"Yeah, it was just a quickie," she says, the corner of her lips twitching. "One little neck twist—" she makes a cracking sound and rolls her eyes to the back of her head, "—and he was finished."

After he's done zipping her up, Peter slides his arm around her waist and pulls her close to him, whispering in her ear, "Smart. No fingerprints with the gloves, and latex doesn't leave clothing fiber behind." 

He runs his hands up and down her sides, sliding them over the black plastic material molded over her hips and waist, and resting his palms right beneath her breasts.

Michelle places her hands over his, and presses her back against him so she can feel him stir against her thigh. "Like The Spider's suit does for you, keep you from leaving any trace?"

Peter shrugs and smiles cryptically. "I guess you could say that. Gotta dress appropriately for the job after all." His expression darkens. "Were you planning on a kill tonight?"

Meeting his gaze evenly, she says, "I was open to the possibility, if it became necessary. And it became necessary." Michelle nods her head at the body. "That's Harry Osborn, the Goblin's son. Thought he could bag The Spider for his first real kill—at least one that his daddy didn't set up for him, or isn't the result of a DUI."

Peter's crossed paths with the Goblin before, and he isn't looking to become the personal target of a mob boss known for his unhinged mental state.

Accepting her trench coat from Peter, she shrugs it back on and continues, "But someone was feeding Osborn legitimate information on you, surveillance photos and everything, right down to Black Hawk, so he became a real threat. We've got enough with the Maggia on your tail, don't need some amateur lighting us up, too."

"Yeah, speaking of the Maggia…" Peter rubs his face tiredly. "It's Martello, Felicia's Maggia boss. I saw one of his men in _Le Chat_ tonight and tailed him to their hideout. He's in Reno now."

"Shit." Michelle shakes her head. "Of all the Maggia bosses… it just had to be fucking Hammerhead?"

Mob boss Joseph Martello, more commonly known as Hammerhead, was infamous for his particular brand of physical brutality; thanks to a surgically implanted skull made of reinforced steel, he's been known to use it to beat down enemies and insubordinates, reportedly, to death. 

"If Hammerhead's in town now, then we don't have much time left. It'll probably go down tomorrow night," Michelle says, chewing her bottom lip.

Peter nods solemnly and takes her in his arms, feeling the heat of her body through the layers of latex and silk. "Osborn and his capo won't be far behind, either, not after this. Do you wish we had run when we had the chance?" 

"If we keep running, they'll just keep coming after us," she says, squeezing him tight. "If not today, then tomorrow, then the rest of our lives. At least if we stay and fight, they'll either think twice next time, or we'll be dead."

"Always about the silver lining, aren't you?" He chuckles weakly, tucking her hair behind her ear. He wishes they had more time. 

“Hey, you lost an earring.” Peter points at her bare left earlobe. “Didn’t Felicia lend you those?”

Michelle shrugs. “Yeah. I must’ve dropped it somewhere in the room...”

“Accidentally?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Of course,” she replies, looking at Peter pointedly. “Why would I have left it there on purpose?" 

Resting her palm against his chest, Michelle says, "Felicia’s going to be pretty pissed with me for losing her custom designed, one-of-a-kind jewelry...” She slips a hand into Peter's pocket and fishes out Felicia's calling card, and drops it by Harry's body, lipstick side facing up. "Oops. I'm just a mess today. Losing everything," she deadpans.

"How careless of you," Peter says wryly, his hand drifting down her backside under her coat, his fingers sliding against where the edge of her dress meets her legs. 

"Yeah," Michelle says, smiling softly, pressing her hips into his. After a moment, she glances away, sighing, "It _was_ careless, though. Impulsive. It's just… I've never felt this way on a job before. The stuff Harry was saying about you, about getting The Spider, made something snap inside of me. I was just so _angry_ that he thought he could… that he could take you away from me," her voice quivers slightly, but she swallows it down. "So I had to do something. I wanted to. I think I'd do whatever it takes—"

Tilting her chin to him, Peter kisses her on the lips, her anger melting under his touch. "I love you, MJ. I'd do anything for you, too."

Her eyes soften at him for a moment, then a hard resolve takes over again, and she says quietly, "Peter, apparently I'd _kill_ for you."

  
  


After taking everything in the hotel room related to Peter and The Spider and shoving it into the briefcase, Michelle sets it all on fire in the middle of the desert while it is still dark out. They had driven out to one of the deeper canyons between the red rock formations, to watch the orange flames go until only a smoldering pile of ash and flickering embers remained. 

Peter's eyes follow the crackling fire up to the smoke rising into the inky night sky, and he feels Michelle entwine her cold fingers through his. They stand side by side in the darkness, shifting closer and closer to each other each time a cold wind cuts across their backs.

They're close enough for him to smell her hair, smoky from the bonfire, and Felicia's perfume seems to meld with Michelle's unique chemistry into something musky and sweet.

"Is that the last of it?" He asks when the last folder of papers goes up in flames.

She nods, still staring into the fire. "For now."

===

The night of Peter's set-up comes sooner than Michelle is ready for, though she may never really be ready to seduce and lure her husband into a trap for the mob. 

According to Felicia's instructions, Mary Jane is supposed to get Peter to take her out to dinner, followed by an evening in a 'play room' at one of Felicia's racier establishments. There, her Maggia boss and his armed men would storm The Spider while he's indisposed from Mary Jane's efforts, and then the bounty would be hers and Felicia's to do with as they please.

As if Felicia wouldn't just shoot Mary Jane Watson down the moment they had their hands on the reward, Michelle thinks. Though if tonight goes according to plan, they wouldn't get to that point. Hopefully.

Confident and optimistic, Peter keeps assuring Michelle that they're going to succeed, that they'll beat Hammerhead and his crew and make it out just fine, and it's starting to get on her nerves.

"Just because you want it to work out, doesn't mean it will. Wishful thinking is going to get us killed faster than getting outnumbered will, Parker!" she snaps. "Which we haven't figured out a plan for, by the way."

"If there are too many of them? Then we'll just take them out, usual crowd control tactics, right?" Peter glances at her earnestly.

She doesn't know how to explain it to him, that this doesn't feel like a game anymore, not like her SHIELD missions did—each hit was another notch in her belt, but tonight was her actual life, and Peter's. Why isn't he more worried when they're all after him? Does he have a death wish?

"Why don't you care enough about, you know, _living_ to take this seriously?" Michelle asks curtly. _Why don't you care more about making sure you can stay with me?_

He blinks at her, wide-eyed. "Of course I care. And I know we're going to get through this, okay? Trust me."

Michelle doesn't get a chance to reply before the doors of the elevator slide open directly into Felicia's special room. 

Usually reserved for the members-only casino's high rollers, the suite is luxurious and lurid at the same time, with its dim red lighting, sumptuous bedding, and array of restraints and toys laid out on the velvet chaise. 

The moment they step inside, Michelle spins Peter around and shoves him up against the nearest wall, making a big show of checking his waist and jacket for weapons, her hand drifting down the front of his pants. 

"Satisfied?" he asks, raising his eyebrows at her.

"Not for years," she smirks, pushing herself off of him. 

He tries to catch her, but she slips away, spinning on her heels, and struts over to the bed. Running her fingers through her hair, she throws her thick curls back and looks over her shoulder, and crooks her finger at Peter, beckoning him to her.

Crossing the room to her in no time, he wraps his arms around her waist and buries his face into her neck and inhales the familiar warm scent, tasting her pulse against his lips. She moans, deep and low, almost losing herself, but shakes herself out of it.

Stripping his jacket and tie off, Michelle pushes Peter back onto the bed and falls on top of him, nestling her legs between his and begins unbuttoning his shirt. She can feel him hardening against her, hot and insistent, and it takes all her willpower to keep pacing herself. _Slow and steady_ , she repeats in her head, _slow and steady_.

When he's left in only a white undershirt and boxers, she reaches over to the chaise for a pair of metal handcuffs. Peter inhales deeply and nods at her.

Straddling him, Michelle leans forward to restrain Peter's hands together above his head to the slat headboard. 

"Is this too tight?" she asks, looking down at him. The tips of her soft red hair tickle his chest, and he flexes involuntarily.

Peter shakes his head. She smirks and says, "Too bad."

Then she blindfolds him with his necktie, leaving him ostensibly at her mercy without his hands and vision.

"Are you sure you can get out of this?" she whispers, serious this time. "If you end up dead, there's a much lower probability that I'll make it out alive myself."

Peter grins even though he can't see her. "I'm sure. The plan will work just like we practiced, trust me."

"There are still a lot of wild cards in the 'plan'."

“Wild cards are the best part,” he quips, wriggling his cuffed wrists to give her a thumbs up. "Now what do we do?"

"Now I'm supposed to tire you out," says Michelle, running her hands up and down his hard chest. "Until you're literally unable to move."

“I’m liking this death trap so far,” Peter murmurs, settling his broad shoulders into the pillows. "Tell me more, Red."

Michelle scoots herself up to straddle his chest and leans forward. "You have to lick whatever I put in your mouth," she orders loudly. "And you'll open your mouth whenever I tell you to. But I guess your problem is trying to keep that mouth shut..."

Peter nods eagerly and a curl of hair falls over his forehead, above his blindfold. "Yes, ma'am."

It's strange knowing that they're being watched right now, at least by Felicia but also probably the Maggia, through hidden cameras in the room.

In any case, they're giving _somebody_ a show, so they might as well make it a good one.

Pulling down the neckline of her top, Michelle hovers her chest by his face, the side of her breasts barely touching his cheek. Then she guides the tip to his mouth, and Peter obediently starts licking, eliciting a soft gasp from her that quickly melts into a series of louder moans. 

The tickling sensation of having her nipples sucked feels so good that she finds her fingers knotted in his hair, tugging whenever he makes her want to cry out.

Michelle reaches under her dress to slide her panties off and shifts up to sit on Peter's face. He makes a pleased muffled sound.

She squeezes her thighs around his head and gasps when he tickles her with his hot tongue. Squirming with pleasure, Michelle rolls her hips and throws her head back, moaning loudly when Peter licks her in the right spot.

"Fuck…" she pants. "Yes, right there. Your mouth belongs right there… fuck!"

Peter groans with satisfaction, and it makes her feel powerful and in control. Holding onto his forearms, she arches her back and makes a big show of bucking into his face, his arms still restrained above his head—to show whoever's watching how powerless he is beneath her.

Her head is spinning from the feeling of his wet mouth between her legs, sucking on her like a ripe fruit while his stiff tongue teases out the sweet juices.

"Don't stop, don't stop," she pants hungrily. 

Her thighs are shaking uncontrollably around his head as an intense orgasm goes tearing through her body like an electric current. She lets out a throaty sound, and Peter only licks harder and faster, sending her contorting into a mind-numbing state of complete bliss. 

When she's finished, Michelle rolls off of him and lies on her back, panting.

"Weren't you supposed to wear _me_ out?" asks Peter, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across the exposed bottom half of his face.

"Shut up," says Michelle, grabbing his face in both hands, and kisses him full on the mouth, tasting herself on his tongue. Then she draws back to look at him, and runs her fingers over his slick lips. 

Reaching behind her to stroke Peter through his boxers, Michelle wraps her fingers around him over the fabric until his legs begin to tremble in anticipation. "You want me to touch you there?"

Peter nods vigorously.

"Then you better remember the rules," says Michelle, turning around to stretch her body over his, facing his feet with her knees by his shoulders.

When she takes him into her mouth and pushes back into his face at the same time, Peter moans into her, the metal cuffs at his wrists rattling against the headboard.

After she gets him to the edge with her hands and mouth, Michelle abruptly changes position and sinks onto him, savoring each inch of fullness until he's completely seated inside her.

She can tell Peter's already on the brink and barely keeping himself from bursting, his legs quivering and arms twisting over his head. So she moves slowly at first, her hands drifting over his shoulders for balance. He lets out a pleased groan.

It probably doesn't look like much from afar, on camera—her dress is still on, skirt fanned out around her while she's riding him. But Peter is still blindfolded and handcuffed to the bed, and every movement of his makes her want to move faster, harder.

"MJ," Peter gasps, "I-I'm going to—I won't last if—"

"I'm close," she pants back, rolling her hips harder, "Just a little more... I… I want—" 

When her orgasm hits her, Michelle doubles over and muffles a throaty cry into his chest. It rushes through her body in hot waves, sweat running down her neck; everything inside her is churning and throbbing, and she doesn't want this moment to ever end, even though she knows it has to.

Just as Michelle's about to sit up on her knees so Peter can pull out, the door to the suite slams open. Startled, she clenches tightly around him instead, and Peter lets out a deep and strangled groan.

Before she can gather enough of herself to turn around and face their intruder, Michelle feels a hot surge rising inside of her, deep and satisfying, and she lets out a soft gasp. 

"Well, well, look what the cat's got in her claws," Felicia's voice calls out.

"What's going on, Mi-Mary Jane?" Peter asks, his voice strained. His head turns from side to side, even though he can't see anything through the necktie around his eyes.

Glancing over her shoulder, Michelle sees Felicia leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, her green eyes focused and merciless.

A cold chill runs down Michelle's spine and her skin prickles all over with goosebumps. The other woman taps a long dark nail on her watch at her, wordlessly telling Mary Jane, _It's time._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and MJ come back to where they started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the end! Thank you so much reading and commenting, hope you guys had as much fun as I did on this roadtrip.
> 
> TW: violence and sexual references

===

Retrieving her panties from the floor, Michelle hastily slides them back on and tugs the top of her dress back up to cover her chest. Her legs are still shaky and her knees weak, but Felicia's interruption has brought Michelle slamming back to reality.

"Is everything okay?" Peter asks again. "Is this part of the, uh, special night?"

"Oh yes," says Felicia, sauntering her way to the bed where Peter is lying half naked, still blindfolded and with his wrists cuffed together over his head. "Didn't Miss Mary tell you we're running a two for one special tonight?"

"Mary _Jane,_ " Michelle grits out between her teeth. "And you and I did _not_ talk about that, Felicia."

"Ooh, getting all possessive? Cute." The other woman doesn't even turn to catch Michelle's angry glower, and continues focusing on Peter instead. 

"You don't have to do a thing," Felicia tells him, dragging a fingernail along his hard stomach. "Just lie back, and we'll take good care of you, won't we Mary Jane?"

Breathing out through her flaring nostrils, Michelle tries to assess their odds if she knocks Felicia out now and they try to make a run for it, abort the whole damn plan. But she's too annoyed and freshly fucked to think clearly; she can't stop glaring at Felicia and she doesn't like the way she's climbed onto the bed to hover over him, or the way she's eying the half tent in Peter's boxers.

Reaching for a decanter on the bedside bar tray, Felicia pours out some liquor into a crystal tumbler. Then she tips a vial of powder into it, and the amber liquid goes cloudy for a moment before the powder completely dissolves.

Felicia catches Michelle's eye and taps the last of the powder into the glass, daring her to do something about it. 

Michelle's stomach lurches. She and Peter had planned for the possibility of drugs, maybe even a tranquilizer shot, but not this early in the night, and she doesn't have a way of warning him without alerting Felicia.

Felicia places the glass against Peter's lips and tips it over before he can protest. "That's it, drink up, baby."

Spluttering a bit as she pours the drink down his throat, Peter swallows whatever doesn't dribble down his chin, and chokes out, "W-Where's Mary Jane?"

"She's right over there, stud." Kneeling over Peter with one of her legs between his, Felicia splays both hands on his pecs. 

He grunts when she digs her fingertips into the hard muscle and whispers in his ear, "I get it, you're intimidated by women like me—too demanding, too difficult to please. So you go for girls that are easier to handle, like little miss Mary Jane, impressionable and adoring," Felicia turns to Michelle and wrinkles her nose. "The kind of girls who let you go for a ride without wearing a seatbelt."

So, Felicia _was_ watching them. 

Though the revelation is a little bit thrilling, Michelle can't stop the furious blush from taking over her face, the heat rising to the tips of her ears. 

Noting her silence, Felicia clicks her tongue at her. "Don't tell me he convinced you that it feels better without anything on? Oh, Indiana..."

Michelle clenches her fists but doesn't say anything. She won't let Felicia goad her into reacting and playing her games.

"You don't need to worry about me," she eventually says, voice neutral.

"Oh, but I do. I've seen how starry-eyed you get for him, you're not fooling anyone," Felicia replies patronizingly. “You still think you're the kind of nice girl that gets married, settles down? Then when your man needs a little excitement on the side, he'll come and see someone like me?" 

She flips her blonde hair over her shoulder, and her green eyes flit back up to Michelle's, hard and piercing. "But you and I are the same, and _this_ is what we're good for: late nights when the mood lighting and the booze give everything a misty glow. Not for showing off in the daylight.”*

"I didn't forget why we're here," Michelle says curtly, swallowing down the urge to grab Felicia by her blonde locks and drag her away from Peter.

"Good. Just didn't want you getting disappointed. Your sweetheart's got a missus at home already, isn't that right?" She turns to Peter and squeezes his bicep, and his head hangs to the side, as if it's too heavy to lift. "What would she say if she knew about your side girl here?"

"What… what are you talking… about?" he asks, voice getting slurred as whatever Felicia spiked his drink with starts to take over. 

"Your girl sold you out, _Spider,_ " says Felicia.

"I'm sorry, baby! They were offering me so much money!" Michelle calls over to him, hoping he's still lucid enough to recognize her voice—and their signal.

That’s when Hammerhead shows up with a half dozen of his men, crowding into the suite. Wearing a striped suit, he’s got slicked-back black hair over a wide scarred forehead, and his sneer is cruel and expectant.

"This is it? This is him?" Hammerhead asks when he stops at the foot of the bed. "The terrifying Spider, Tony Stark's great enforcer, the so-called Butcher of Leipzig? Turns out to be a little boy caught with his pecker out! Hah!” The mob boss roars with laughter. “Hardy, you've really fuckin’ outdone yourself!"

Felicia's dark lips curl into a supremely satisfied smile, and she catches Michelle's eye. "Had a little help from the new girl."

Hammerhead and his men turn to look at Michelle, and she squirms under the sudden and decidedly unfriendly attention. 

"Is that so, girly?" 

Michelle returns their leers with a cold hard stare. ”Just give me my money.”

Hammerhead clicks his tongue and turns back to Peter. “These broads are only after one thing, Spider, and it aint’ your cock. You’ll learn more about it when you hit puberty!”

The men cackle at their boss’s joke, and Hammerhead yanks the blindfold off of Peter, who blinks a few times, still groggy from whatever Felicia dosed him with. 

"You're too young to remember the good ol' days,” says Hammerhead, getting into Peter’s face, “the time when the Maggia controlled New York through fear, and the police knew their place. But the other dons got too soft, and the Maggia lost our edge.”

With her heart thundering in her ears, Michelle draws on all of her self-restraint to stand there and do nothing—just watch, stick to the plan, and wait. It's completely agonizing. 

“Now, Stark’s got all the crime families under his foot, and he uses that power to do what? Set rules? Limits? Telling the rest of us what to do?" the mob boss growls. "And the one that’s been keeping everyone scared shitless of Tony is just a pipsqueak in a spider costume!"

"Hey, I’m tough," Peter says in a mocking deep voice. "Sometimes I let matches burn down to my fingertips just to feel something, anything."*

Hammerhead grabs Peter by the hair and jerks his head up. "Do I look like a fucking joke to you?"

"Uh... do you really want me to answer that?” Peter asks drowsily, his eyes not quite focusing on the mobster’s scarred face. “I know you've got a thick skull, but I'm gonna be honest—don't think you have very thick skin—oof!"

With a swift punch to Peter’s stomach, Hammerhead sends him curling over in pain, with his wrists still cuffed to the bed’s headboard. Michelle swallows the lump in her throat and watches helplessly as Hammerhead advances on Peter again.

Peter coughs, but keeps taunting him. "You think you're real hard boys, eh? Real biscuit boxers?"*

Hammerhead’s face screws up into a furious snarl, unaccustomed to being teased and jerked around. Just as he’s about to take another swing at Peter, the door slams open and three men with guns storm in. Hammerhead’s men draw their weapons and immediately begin a stand-off with the intruders. 

"We ain't here for you," the leader tells Hammerhead. "We're here for that bitch, Felicia Hardy!"

"What'd I do this time?" Felicia drawls, arms crossed over her chest.

“You murdered the Goblin’s son in cold blood, so he sent us to even the score,” says the Osborn leader, turning his pistol on her. 

Holding her hands up, Felicia narrows her eyes and spits back, “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, I’ve never met Osborn’s kid.”

“He was at your club last night, checking out the girls, turned up dead in his hotel room with _your_ stuff on him—”

“What stuff—”

“Enough! You Osborn Goblin freaks busting in here is disrespectful,” Hammerhead interrupts. “Coming after my employee without my permission? That’s you disrespectin' me. That’s the problem with you new gangsters,” he growls, grabbing one of the OsCorp thugs by the collar and lifting him in the air, “no respect!”

Without warning, he slams his forehead into the thug's head and lets him drop to the floor with the heavy thud. 

“Of course, used to be that we _earned_ your respect. You hit us? We hit back. Made you know your place. Gave you the fear…”**

Hammerhead has his henchmen drag another Osborn man over, who's kicking and flailing against his captors. A dark pool of blood is expanding from the other thug's unmoving body.

“But now you think a stiff breeze’ll blow us over.” Hammerhead dropkicks the second thug. “Time to bring back the fear!”

The last remaining man cowers as Hammerhead approaches them.

“There it is. There’s the fear!” he shouts with satisfaction, drawing his gun on him, execution-styled.

Just as Hammerhead’s about to pull the trigger, a sticky substance latches onto the weapon and snaps it out of his hold. 

Every head pivots to the source of the webbing. Peter’s sitting up on the bed, the handcuffs undone and on the ground.

"Don't watch the mouth, watch the hands!" he says, shaking jazz hands at Hammerhead and Felicia.* “Seriously, even if Osborn’s goons didn’t interrupt us, you were making this way too easy with your little boomer speech.”

"Hardy! You fucking bitch, you set us up!" Hammerhead roars.

"No I didn't! It was all her!" Felicia shrieks when he grabs her arm, pointing at Michelle. "She didn't tie him tight enough!"

He pushes Felicia off and grabs Michelle before she can get to Peter. 

"Wouldn't want anything to happen to your pretty redhead," Hammerhead growls, holding Michelle up by her hair. She lets out a pained cry and whimpers as he twists her to her knees. 

Peter jerks towards her but stops himself, reminding himself that it's an act, but he looks like he still wants to tear Hammerhead's throat out.

"You can watch my crew take turns with her, see how many that skinny bitch can handle before she breaks," Hammerhead laughs. 

He smacks her across the face, but Michelle prepares herself for it and it's not a very hard strike. Hammerhead doesn't want her passing out, at least not yet; he just wants to rile Peter up, and it’s working.

Although she barely flinched from the blow, Peter is furious, nostrils flared and jaws clenched tight. Catching his attention with her eyes, she nods imperceptibly, and Peter blinks slowly in acknowledgement. 

It all happens so fast after that.

The thug who had a hold on Michelle cries out, choking for air, and slumps to the ground, and she's left holding a bloody hairpin blade in the air. Before anyone can react, she spins and stabs another one of Hammerhead's men in the eye, withdraws the blade, and jabs it through another henchman's throat.

The room erupts into a chaos of gunshots and shouting. 

Spinning around and punching one of Hammerhead’s men in the head, Peter knocks him to the ground and kicks himself off the wall to dive toward his wife. Another thug gets in his way, so he webs the muzzle of his attacker’s gun just as the mobster pulls the trigger, trapping the combustion in the chamber until it explodes in his hand.

"You gonna fight or are you just flappin' gums? Ya hard-boiled turtle slapper!" Peter yells out, picking up another guy with one hand and flinging him into Hammerhead.*

"I think The Spider should stick to not talking!" Michelle shouts over at him.

"Honey, could you not critique me in front of the company? We can workshop at home!" he quips back.

Ducking when some thug takes a swing at her, Michelle goes low and slices the tendon of his ankle with a switchblade she flips out in her other hand. It feels like clockwork now, and she’s back in her comfort zone.

Another mobster swings his arm around and almost catches her in the jaw, but she keeps evading his reach, twisting and stepping out of the way. When he lunges for her again, Michelle steps aside and lets him trip over the ottoman. She finishes him with a single shot to the back of the head, and the only ones left standing are her, Felicia crouching in a corner of the room, and Hammerhead advancing on Peter.

Michelle yells at him to watch out, but he's too distracted with reloading his web-shooter, and the hulking mobster grabs Peter around the arms and lifts him into the air.

Struggling in Hammerhead's crushing hold, Peter kicks out his legs and shakes his head, but can't raise his arms to shoot his webs. Knowing she can't get to them in time, Michelle aims her gun at the mob boss' head and pulls the trigger, praying she has at least one bullet left.

With a loud bang, her prayers are answered as the bullet hits her mark, but it just ricochets off his namesake hammer-hard head.

Dropping Peter, the mob boss bellows angrily, blood running down his face from where Michelle broke the skin, only to hit the metal plate beneath. Furious, Hammerhead turns his sights on her and charges, but Peter tackles him before he can get to her, and they both go crashing into the wall. 

Hammerhead presses his advantage and shoves a forearm under Peter's chin, choking him. As Peter struggles against the arm at his neck, the mob boss rears his head back. 

Michelle inhales sharply, not prepared for what she knows is coming. The smell of gunpowder and blood fills the air around her.

When Hammerhead slams his head into Peter's forehead, she screams. 

That's not how that fight was supposed to go down. Peter was supposed to evade him, duck out of the way—something, _anything_. Her ears feel hot and her entire body feels like it's on the verge of some kind of meltdown.

She's too terrified to look up and see Peter's lifeless body on the ground next to the other lowlifes. Michelle thinks she’s going to be sick.

But she has to look, he deserves that much from her. Tightening her fists, she glances up in time to see Peter stumbling back in a daze, but otherwise uninjured. 

"Ouch! Damn, that hurt!" Peter groans.

She doesn't understand what happened. That hit should have killed him or at least knocked him out, but Peter is still standing, albeit with his head in his hands.

"I don't know what I expected from a guy named Hammerhead, but _ow_! I'm gonna think twice before I call anyone else hard-headed again!"

Michelle stares at Peter in bewilderment.

What trick did he just pull off? Why didn't he tell her about whatever it is?

Michelle watches Peter spring off the wall and leap onto Hammerhead's back and wrap a rope made of his web fluid around the mobster's thick neck. Hammerhead flails angrily, swiping at him and spinning, slamming his back against a wall to shake Peter off. 

Peter grunts in pain and his face is red from the effort, but he manages to hold onto the web-rope like he's riding a wild bull. He keeps his feet planted on Hammerhead's broad back, the soles stuck to his shoulder blades, and pulls harder on the rope to choke the mobster.

Hammerhead’s eyes bulge and the veins in his head swell. With a final jerk on the web-rope, Peter garrotes his thick neck, cutting into it with the webbing. Peter’s own palms are bleeding and raw from the effort, but his face is grim with satisfaction as he watches the large form of Hammerhead's body slump over, heavy, all dead weight. 

“And then there was one,” Michelle deadpans, dragging Felicia to the middle of the room.

"Who the hell are you?!" Felicia gasps, struggling against Michelle's hold.

"Oh Reno, didn't The Spider already tell you?" she replies, tightening her grip on Felicia's arms. Then Michelle leans in close to whisper hotly in her ear, "I'm his _wife_."

With that, Michelle knocks Felicia out cold with a single punch.

===

Adrenaline is still pumping through Michelle's veins as she hastily throws their bags into the trunk of the car. 

She hadn't realized how much she missed a good brawl, and it was even better with Peter by her side. They way they fought in tandem with each other, wordlessly anticipating each other's next move, playing off each other to maximize their impact efficiently. She's never had that kind of fluid connection even with SHIELD agents she's trained with for years.

Now, they're ready to skip town again, and leaving a mess that will probably result in a gang war between at least the Maggia and the Osborn Family. That should buy Peter and Michelle some time as they head further west, and maybe even distract the other families and SHIELD from the bounties on their heads for a while.

"You look beautiful," Peter says when she comes around to the front of the car.

Michelle makes a face at him. "I've got blood splattered all over me, you weirdo. The night ended up a little messier than I usually plan for."

He just grins at her and shrugs. "The plan worked."

"The 'plan' was you telling me 'just trust me' and 'you'll know when you need to do your thing'."

"And you did, and it worked!" Peter beams.

The plan wasn't actually that half-baked, but it felt like it in the moment, before Peter revealed his secret, what really made him The Spider. 

It sounds like something straight out of science fiction, but Michelle had witnessed him in action, saw how drugs didn't affect him like everyone else, how much faster and stronger he was. She probably wouldn't have believed him if he tried to tell her, she supposes, not until she saw it all with her own eyes.

Agent Jones would have done anything to solve the mystery of The Spider, and now that she has, all she wants is to keep him all for herself.

Her body is still aching from the fight with Hammerhead's crew, with bruises all over and the tiredness finally setting in. Peter, however, has completely healed in the hours since the fight, and there isn't a scratch or bruise left on him.

"Who knows, I coulda been a superhero or something in another life," he jokes when she calls it super-healing

"You still could," Michelle says, opening the passenger side door, "since you already seem super into spandex."

Peter laughs, but a tender look warms his face, and holds a hand out against the door. “Wait a sec, I thought I’d share some dessert with you first,” he says, pulling out a box of caramel popcorn and peanuts.

“Cracker Jacks?” She takes the box and opens it. “I haven’t had these since staging sit-in protests at in highschool. Look, they still have a toy in every—”

Something slides out of the box and into her hand, heavy and solid.

“Wait a sec’, this isn’t a toy. It’s a... diamond ring?” she says, holding it up to the light.

“Mary Jane, will you marry me?” asks Peter, getting down on one knee.***

Michelle gives him a look that says he’s the biggest dork she’s ever met, and she can’t believe she married him the first time around. 

“I don’t know… _Mary Jane's_ too much of a free spirit to tie herself down to any one guy or gal,” she teases, tapping a finger on her chin. “There’s a whole world out there and this doll’s gotta be free to find 'em.” She steps closer to him. “Besides, tiger, maybe I’m just not the marrying kind.”

“Aw shucks, that’s too bad, doll,” Peter jokes back, looking up at her. “We coulda been great together.”

Holding her hand up to inspect the clunky engagement ring, Michelle asks seriously, “Where did you even get this thing?”

With its cloudy “diamond” and over-the-top silver filigree setting, it's a far cry from the flawless three-carat Harry Winston solitaire that Peter had proposed with four years ago. 

“Picked it up at a pawn shop,” he replies proudly.

Slipping the pawnshop ring on her finger, Michelle marvels at how tacky it is. It’s perfect.

“So, you're finally gonna make an honest woman of me?”

Peter wraps his arms around her thighs and hoists her up as he stands, hooking her legs around his hips. "I don't think you've got a single honest bone in your body, Ms. Jones—if that's even your real name!"

She snorts, but leans down to kiss him anyway, and he sets her back down on the ground. 

"There's a drive-thru wedding chapel on Fourth Street," Peter says as they get into the car. "We could elope right now on the way out of town, in beautiful downtown Reno..."

He's saying it casually, but she can hear the hope and nervousness in his voice.

They really should be out of town already by now, not contemplating a pitstop just to have their alter egos get married. But isn't this the fresh start she's been craving?

"Reno _is_ the divorce capital of the world,” Michelle notes pensively. "So it could be some sort of poetic symmetry, getting hitched here. To start where things end."

"Yeah, totally," Peter agrees heartily. "I was definitely thinking the same thing. So, what do you say, Mary Jane? Until death do us part?"

"No," she says, shaking her head, and before the crestfallen look lingers on his face any longer, adds, "not even then, Parker. In every life, I'll find you. Even if we have to keep restarting, over and over again."

He makes a face at her, smiling but tilting his head like she's making fun of him. 

Relaxing her shoulders, Michelle reaches for Peter's hand and notices that he's put his wedding band back on already. She looks over her shoulder out at the horizon, where the sun is rising, blood red against the paling sky.

"I mean it," she insists. "We messed it up the first time around, but… it's always going to be you and me in the end."

"Aw, MJ, you _do_ believe in happy endings," says Peter, wiping some blood off her jaw.

She rolls her eyes at him. “Happy endings are just stories that haven’t finished yet.”

"I dunno, Mary Jane, I feel pretty finished after happy endings from you—" Peter yelps when she pounces on him, grinning, and pins him down in his seat.

His chest is hard and warm beneath her palms, his heart beating hard, and she kisses him until they're out of breath.

  
  


FIN

(of Part II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse (is a perfect movie)  
> ** Spider-Man (PS4): The City that Never Sleeps  
> *** My play on the proposal scene in Amazing Spider-Man #182, except Peter succeeds this time!
> 
> I have some ideas for a third installment if anyone's interested in reading more of this AU? Where to next for the Jones??

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos to let me know what you think! ♥️
> 
> Check out the [fic playlist here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5KYyL0VrcrIXlbEO2ZT2UL?si=vnVa7NsaTqesQib8rPiBhA)
> 
> Find me on the [Tumblr @machiavelien](https://machiavelien.tumblr.com/) :3


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